Disclaimer: This story takes place in the universe of Scyphi's The New Adventures of Darkwing Duck, a world where Darkwing has returned after a seven year disappearance into the Negaverse, Gosalyn and Honker are all grown up and fighting crime as the Crimson Avenger and Techno, where Negaduck has recently nearly taken over St. Canard with a multi-dimensional army, and now after his defeat the world is going through a few changes.
It's extremely important that you read Darkwing Duck Returns and NADWD first, as the prominent original characters (and in some cases, lack thereof), plot developments and daring twists from those stories will be used without much (if any, at times) explanation in these continued stories.
The War On Gosalyn – Ducking Responsibility Pt. 1
Suburbs of Spoonerville, Midday,
It was definitely the last place one might expect two superheroes to be walking down the street. And while his companion seemed blissfully unaware of it, Darkwing couldn't help but notice the looks of the people on the road: the paperboy who crashed into a car because he was too busy staring, the people cutting their grass as disapprovingly as possible.
It was awkward. And while in his younger, perhaps less wise days that sort of thing was always amusing, nowadays…
The thought of the crack Gosalyn would make if she were here came into his mind before he could think, and reminded him that he didn't have time for awkward.
"Don't take this the wrong way, but I shouldn't even be here." He said to the duck beside him. "There are… things I need to be focusing on."
To his credit, the Masked Mallard actually broke stride. There had been an awful lot of begging involved to get Darkwing to come down here with him, and the kid was practically walking on cloud nine now that it had worked, to be precise. But despite his happy mood, Darkwing could see the compassion in his eyes.
He had to admit, that was part of why he agreed to do this in the first place.
"Yeah, I heard." Darkwing sent him a funny look, and he backtracked. "Well, more like I figured it out. But in any case, I know you have… uh… family issues to take care of. I'm glad you agreed to come."
"It's a good source. Just not a great time." The other part of why he agreed was pure logic. He couldn't argue with the Mallard's hunch this time. "Are you sure he'll talk to us?"
"Knowing him? Probably. He's…" Tbe Mallard's eyes darted to the side, "… an associate of an associate, and I've got a pretty decent take on what he's liable to do. Trust me, he's a stand up guy."
Darkwing just shrugged. He'd known too many "stand up guys" in his time to be so quickly convinced. But they had just reached the house, so they would find out soon regardless. So he said "if you say so," and kept walking. They had just reached the house they wanted, so they would find out soon regardless.
Darkwing took point and headed for the door. He knocked once, twice. A few moments later, the door opened to a rather confused looking dog – a portly fellow, but with a friendly enough face.
He answered without really looking at first. "Yes, I-" He stopped when he saw who was at his door. The Masked Mallard hid a snort. "W-whoa! Darkwing Duck! And… some other guy!" The Mallard's snort died immediately, which only made Darkwing do it instread. "I can't believe…"
The dog stopped himself again. "Sorry, I guess I can believe it. I heard my grandfather's been causing trouble in St. Canard. This was probably inevitable."
"I suppose so." Darkwing extended his hand, which the dog readily took. "We're obviously all aware of each other, but… Peter Pete Jr, right? Though why you're a Jr when Pete's your grandfather…" He muttered the last part under his breath, though he was heard anyway.
Instead of being insulted, the dog just laughed. "Weird, I know. But it's a long story. Let's say my family has a long history and my dad didn't much care for it. I'll tell you all about it – hope you guys like brownies!" He slipped back into the house. His head emerged a second later. "And by the way, everyone calls me PJ."
He slipped off again, simple as that. Darkwing could hear him strolling along on the other side, waiting for them to follow. He was remarkably pleasant, for someone who had just been surprised by a pair of intimidating superheroes. Or at least, Darkwing hoped he was still intimidating at his age.
"Well, that went better than I was expecting," he said.
"Nah, he's that kind of guy. Timid, but he believes in the side of right." The Mallard shrugged, before frowning. "O-or so my contacts tell me, that is. I did enjoy the look on his face when he first saw us, though." He snickered openly, which Darkwing took as a little too immature for comfort – though, to be fair, he'd had the same reaction himself from time to time. "Too bad the rest of your team isn't here. He would've gone ballistic! Where are they, anyway?"
"Someone has to protect St. Canard, especially with Launchpad on a vacation," Darkwing said. The Mallard flashed a look of concern, but Darkwing waved it off. "The city's been quiet ever since the auction, minus a couple… issues. They should be just fine."
Meanwhile, back in St. Canard,
"I don't know what you're using as a litmus, but this is NOT fine!"
Techno had to admit, from where NegaCrimson was sitting, or more accurately hanging, that was a pretty apt assessment. Being stuck onto a wall by a glob of unidentified slime – well, he had identified it, he just didn't tell her what it was for her benefit – was not a fun way to spend an afternoon.
None of the other four women stuck with her – all faces he recognized - seemed to be enjoying it either. Luckily, Techno had so far avoided detection.
"I just meant we have a perfect vantage for figuring out what Frogduck is up to," he replied. In a move far more daring than he expected from the off-kilter villain, Frogduck had viciously ambushed them during a patrol. He disabled Techno with the same slime – they both really ought to get into a shower, pronto - and made off with NegaCrimson.
And only NegaCrimson, which was a little strange. Though "strange" and Frogduck went together like a pack of french flies.
The lily livered villain then hopped off without a fight, and instead gunned his Frogmobile straight for this secret pad. Techno was able to get free of the slime, however, and caught his tail before the trail dried up. Now all that was left was a careful turning of the tables.
Though NegaCrimson didn't quite agree with the cautious approach.
"We can just ask him about it when I'm down from here!" She hissed back, and it might have just been the distortion on the communicator, but she sounded extremely irritated. Idly, Techno wondered if there was a Frogduck in the Negaverse. For his hypothetical sake, he hoped not. "Now forgive me for being rude, but get your scrawny nerd butt over here and-"
She suddenly went quiet, and a second later Techno could see why. Their host had returned. He was dressed like a wizard for some reason, complete with a staff that his "sidekick" – which is to say his pet frog Keith – was perched atop of.
Magica De Spell would have to eat her heart out, if she even still had one.
"I've finally done it!" Frogduck said, in a dramatic, faux sophisticated tone that sounded like something out of a fantasy movie. "By amphlifying the awesome power of the heretofore believed mythical dimension known only as the Frogverse, I bring you all the finest frog-related innovation known to duck!"
He gestured to what looked like an enormous green water pistol. It was attached to a pair of tanks, one filled with the same slime that had already been used on them all, the other with something else Techno couldn't identify.
He continued on, bellowing like a demafrogue giving a speech. "Too long have I been alone! Well… alone with Keith, anyway." He paused to give his "sidekick" a snuggle. "But now I have devised a means of harnessing the amphibious powers of destiny itself, to find the one fated to be THE BRIDE OF FROGDUCK!"
Thunder rang from somewhere in the distance. Which was odd, because it was sunny today.
Unsurprisingly, the assortment of captured women saw this as ample reason to struggle twice as hard. Which didn't seem to be the reaction Frogduck was hoping for, but he took it in stride.
"… was any of that accurate in the slightest?" NegaCrimson whispered into her communicator, quietly so that Frogduck couldn't hear them talking.
"Doubtful." Techno replied, as he scanned Frogduck's supposed superweapon. "But he has put together a machine that can simulate his mutation. Somehow…"
"Again, how about we ask him how when he's behind bars!" She snarled, a little too loud.
Suddenly, Frogduck was in her face. "Silence!" He shouted, grinning maniacally. "We've got a lot of ground to cover. I wrote, like, ten pages of monologue!" NegaCrimson scowled at him, but said nothing. No use killing their advantage while they had it – she didn't even need to trick him into monologuing.
Techno crept around the base, trying to find a way around to a vulnerable part of the machine. It was an old warehouse full of containers and miscellaneous trash – there was a lot of uneven ground, which he supposed made sense for someone who could leap half a block like it was nothing.
"I chose my candidates carefully!" Frogduck went on. "You, who was part of some of the most fun times of my life!" He pointed at NegaCrimson, who chose not to point out that he was probably thinking of someone else, who had been "part of" attempts to stop him.
He moved onto the next prisoner. It was Dr. Connie Lovell, of Titan Industries. "You, who made me the hoppy soul I am today! I think…" Dr. Lovell looked away. It had been her innovations that accidentally turned athlete Keith Gideon into an insane frog mutant, though it was hardly something she was proud of.
The next prisoner was a surprise. It was Christine Merriweather. "You, whose son I accidentally kidnapped once! Hi!"
Christine strained against the slime, but only sunk deeper. "Can we take a raincheck? I can't pencil in any slime secretions today…"
"Then you're in luck!" Frogduck said cheerfully. "It's not slime, it's mucus!"
"Secreting slime is muc-"
Frogduck hopped past her. "And finally you! Who… was walking down the street with her." The last prisoner, Morgana MacCawber herself, was highly unamused. Techno winced – they had asked her to house Christine and Charlie, who was safe at school for now – for the time being, until the current situation died down. She was unlikely to be happy about having supervillains barge back into her life within the first week.
He remembered that being bound made her magic a lot less accessible, which would explain why she wasn't turning Frogduck into a duckless frog. That slime seemed pretty confining. And in a surprising turn of foresight for their usually incoherent foe, he even made sure to gag her to prevent any verbal magic. Either he was learning, or his brain was having an extremely good day.
"But Keith tells me you once used his cousin Slippy's eyes in a potion," Frogduck went on. "So nyah!" He stuck out his tongue at her, and – completely by accident – nearly knocked her hair askew.
Morgana's eyes bulged furiously. Techno thought he might reconsider the idea that Frogduck was getting smarter…
Then suddenly he jumped away from them and landed at the gun's controls. Techno needed to hurry. At the nervous looks on his captive's faces, Frogduck smiled with what he probably thought was a reassuring vibe.
"Don't worry, it's kind of like a spa!" He said. "You've got a nice soak of Slime #1! Once you get hit with Slime #2, the process will begin. And then once you're nice and green, we can do the dating game! It'll be a night you'll never forget!"
"There!" NegaCrimson hissed. "You've got your info, now move!"
"On it." Techno had swept around behind the machine while Frogduck was talking. He only had to slip up onto it and sabotage it, and they would be home free.
Or so he intended, until he stepped on an uneven assortment of trash and discarded bug wrappers. That might have been loud enough, but they also made a suspiciously loud popping noise on contact. Almost like it was placed there on purpose…
Unfortunately, it wasn't just a passing suspicion. Frogduck whipped around, and Techno just sighed. He had frogotten how sharp the goofy villain could be.
"An intruder!" Frogduck waved his staff, sending Keith flying. "Attack, my toadies!"
Techno blinked. His scan hadn't detected any henchmen in the area. "Toadies? What are you-
That's when a container opened up from above him and dropped about two hundred pounds of live frogs on his head. As he was steadily buried under the delightful frogrance that only dozens upon dozens of amphibians can create, Techno was finally forced to agree: things were toadally not fine…
Or in his words: "aaaaauuughh!"
Hopefully he could leave this part out of the report…
Meanwhile, Back at PJ's house and not covered in frogs,
The brownies were delicious, Darkwing had to admit. Though it was the Masked Mallard who was enthusiastic enough to say so out loud.
"Gosh, thanks," PJ replied, flustering a bit. The plate before them was stacked high, but it was half as tall as it had been when they first sat down. "Just a hobby of mine. It's not going to start paying the bills, I'd bet."
"I suppose not," Darkwing said absently. He looked around at the living room: discarded posters and support signs were littered everywhere, as if the house was being used to store a surplus. "You're in politics?"
PJ shrugged. "Just the assistant campaign manager. But I've got a lot of input. Thanks to me, North Spoonerville's next city councilman will be running the most honest campaign there is!"
"Honest, huh?" Darkwing said. "Well that's atypical, given…"
"… given my family history?" PJ smiled. "No, I don't mind you saying so, thanks for asking." It was a very sarcastic thing to say, but PJ said it with such friendliness that it seemed genuine… which, from what Darkwing could tell, was a defining thing for this man.
PJ looked away, staring at the contours of the room. One of them, with the phrase "THE FAIR CANDIDATE!" caught his attention. "I guess…" he started uneasily. "I guess making up for my family's dirty laundry is something that drives me. We've… well… the Petes haven't always been on the up and up."
"No kidding. I've got the stab wounds to prove that."
Again, PJ just smiled. "My father was decent when he wanted to be, but was a selfish con man who pushed everyone away the first chance he got if he couldn't control them. My mom left before I even left high school, though I guess they're still off and on at times. My sister talks to him still, but there's still some strain there. I'm the only one who still sees him as often as I do, and even I always thought, 'meh, he's just a jerk.'"
The Masked Mallard tensed. An uncomfortable look crossed his face. "So, what changed?"
"Nothing, really." PJ said. "He's still a jerk. But he's my dad. And now that he's up there in years, he's willing to tell me things he kept from me and my sister. Now I know where he got it from."
If anything, the Mallard tensed even more – but for an entirely different reason. "Pegleg Pete."
PJ nodded. He walked to a nearby bookshelf and pulled out a textbook, well worn and bereft of dust. He opened it to a bookmarked page, which featured a black and white picture of a band of early 20th century mobsters. There, clearly, in the back row was a young Pegleg Pete – though the caption labeled him as "Bootleg Pete."
"My grandfather is old." PJ added. "Like, really old. He was old when I was a kid. And it's not like I'm past my prime, but I'm definitely not a kid any more." He smiled wistfully, though the look didn't last. "Even when my dad was a kid, Grandpa Pete had been doing what he was doing for decades."
Darkwing chuckled. "Pretty spry for someone his age. What's his secret?" He faked a tired stretch, ever the ham. "I'm asking for a friend, of course."
The laugh was contagious, because both PJ and the Mallard joined in. "Depends on who you ask, I suppose." PJ smirked. "The way you hear some say it, he's got an endless army of cousins and little brothers who take his place every few years! Some other folks said he stole some water from Fountain of Youth and has been cursed ever since."
"Nah. That can't be it." The Mallard said automatically. "The Fountain doesn't work that way." Both Darkwing and PJ stared at him, causing him to flush and look away.
But rather than pry, PJ waved it off. "Even if it did, I prefer my dad's explanation for what keeps grandpa going: spite! Pure, unadulterated selfishness!"
He pulled the bookmark out of the textbook: like the page itself, the mark had a photo on it. This was of a older looking Pete, with a young child that was almost his spitting image. "Like I said, when my dad was a kid Grandpa Pete was already neck deep in everything from pirating to mercenary work to repeat jaywalking. He was wanted in about a dozen countries worldwide – though that number has since gone way up – and had more aliases than a quadruple agent. But he didn't tell his family about any of it. He wanted to have his cake and eat it too."
He rolled his eyes as he thought ahead a bit. "The way you hear my dad tell it, he was a little angel unwittingly growing up in the arm of a monster. But I know my dad. He was probably a spoiled brat - the consequence of his upbringing. I saw that more and more as I grew up. He wasn't perfect – no way, sir – but compared to what he came from?"
The eyeroll and distaste turned into a glimmer of pride, albeit weary and strained. "And somehow, my dad knew enough right and wrong to realize what his father was doing and say he wanted no part of it. Kind of like what I did when I went out on my own."
"My grandfather is a monster, pure and simple. There's no crime he won't commit. My father always had some standards. And eventually he just up and left. And I mean, really left. He changed our last name – he still won't tell me what it was before. His mom was a dog, and he looked it, so he just pretended that's the way he was."
The Mallard scratched the back of his head. "I'd always wondered about that…" He said under his breath. PJ didn't seem to hear him – too busy reminiscing - but Darkwing eyed him curiously.
PJ was reaching the end of the history lesson regardless. "So then he married my mom and screwed it up, but me and my sister came along anyway. And he named me Pete Junior. As if he was the first guy in our family to go by that name. That was the way he was, y'know: he was Pete, better than his father. Not that Grandpa cared."
All in all, while that story may have been of interest to some, Darkwing had found it all rather boring. But at that hint of more, he finally perked up. "You've had contact with Pegleg Pete before?" He prodded.
"Grandpa visited, sometimes. Despite everything my dad did, he never had a problem finding us." He grimaced, but Darkwing noticed it wasn't with any fear. Just irritation. "My father hated him, but he showed up anyway. He crashed on our couch and made nasty comments to my mother, and my father would mumble under his breath about knocking the stuffing out of him, until Grandpa would dare him to. It was all really awful, looking back on it."
"But…" he paused, unsure how to field what he was about to say. "For what little decency he has, Grandpa never tried to involve us in his business. Heck, I wouldn't be surprised if he knew you were here today."
Darkwing and the Masked Mallard shared an alarmed look. "… and you're not concerned about that?" Darkwing said, concerned.
"I've cooperated with the cops about Grandpa before." PJ said simply. "It's why he never visits, but at the same time he never visits. And I'm grateful for that."
"So…" Darkwing frowned. "What I'm taking from here is that you can't actually tell us much." The natural impatience creeped into his voice again – there were so many other things worth doing…
"If you want insider information about whatever he has going on, nope. I'm an honest guy, in case you haven't noticed." There was an actual hint of annoyance in his voice this time – the implication inherent in the interrogation was obviously a sore subject – but again his nature pushed it away. Still, Darkwing took it as a cue to keep some of his own irritation away from the conversation.
PJ shut the book and gently placed it on the endtable. "But do you want my tip, just from knowing him as a person?"
Darkwing leaned forward. It was better than nothing.
"Whatever's going on, he's not the biggest threat. At his age, and with all he's done, Grandpa barely ever does anything for himself any more – and if he does, he's not doing it too far outside Mouseton. Nowadays, prefers to go along with others' shows and take a payday for it. So you want to figure out who he's working for and what they want."
This seemed rather logical to Darkwing, but the Masked Mallard groaned heavily. "It never occurred to me that Pete might not be in charge. Of course! He wasn't any of the other times…"
Darkwing shook his head. Again, the Mallard said too much – anyone with all the pieces might make a few key conclusions, though luckily PJ didn't seem to be one of those people. Or more likely, wasn't interested in making them.
He was interested in getting this information out, however. This, especially, seemed to spark up his intensity. "My other tip, way more important, is if he does know you're here – and with the tabs he keeps on us, I would definitely assume he does – you can bet he's going to use it to his advantage." He grabbed the plate and lifted it to their faces. "I'd take these brownies to go, if I were you."
"Trying to get rid of us?" Darkwing said wryly.
"Nah, come any time. I'll invite my buddy Max over. He loves superheroes – he'll never believe I met you guys!"
"Ohoho!" The Mallard chortled. "I can imagine."
"Here!" PJ placed the plate in the Mallard arms and pushed them towards the front door. As the door closed behind them, he was still nervously babbling behind them. "You can give it back to me next time. But for now, good luck. I'll bet you've got some craziness coming…"
And that, evidently, was that.
By the time they reentered the Thunderquack, the Masked Mallard had already started going to town on the brownies. Sensing that they would be gone within a few minutes, he made sure to grab one more for himself and a handful for Launchpad, then situated himself at the controls.
He wasn't as deft a pilot as Launchpad – landings aside – but that's what the autopilot was for. Granted, it's programming was overseen by Launchpad himself - now that was a trying few weeks - and if they did crash regardless his sidekick would never let him hear the end of it.
He tried not to think about that, though. There were a few more important things to bring up, while he had the time. "That went well," he said once they were safely in the air.
"I figured it would." The Mallard replied, talking with his mouth full of pastry. Darkwing tried not to scowl. "Good to see he's doing alright… you know, given his family history."
"Just make sure you get that plate back to him in a timely manner, Louie." He glanced pointedly at his companion. "It looks expensive."
"Yeah, I'll just swing by and sneak it onto his-" The Mallard choked suddenly as what Darkwing just said sunk in, spraying bits of brownie all over the console. This time, Darkwing really did scowl. "Hey, wait. What're you… I mean..." He took a hilariously different voice – much deeper and dramatic, as if it would help. "I don't know who it is you're referring to."
This was just sad to watch. But this wasn't the first kind in a mask he'd had to give talks like this to.
"Sure you don't," he jeered. "With all the personal anecdotes and hints you were dropping during that conversation, I'm surprised PJ didn't call it out halfway through. It was more than obvious you knew him personally." He rubbed his chin, thinking. "But then, it's actually sometimes easier to hide the secret identity from people you know personally. They don't expect it."
"I…" The Mallard sighed, deflating. "D-don't you need to check in with your team?"
"They can wait."
Meanwhile...
"No, this absolutely cannot wait!"
Techno considered himself a very even-tempered young man. He rarely lost his temper, and anger with him was typically expressed via passive aggressive sarcasm or pointed criticisms. But, this… this was getting the point where he might just pull his feathers out!
If he had any feathers left by then…
He looked down at his ungloved hand, which had almost completely been overtaken by green, leathery skin. It was getting worse. They needed a cure now!
But of course, the person who could've most easily helped them had to be colossal pain in the rear.
"And I ssssay it can!" Camille the Chameleon shot back. They had with great difficulty gotten her to Darkwing Tower – into the lab deep inside, to be precise, away from any windows with identifying views, and where Techno was hoping to be hard at work. "You sssupposed heroes have the nerve to kidnap me, blindfold me, and take me to sssome random gulag, and then exsspect me drain me like a vampire!"
"It's not a gulag!" Techno huffed. "I mean… we have a brig… but…" The brig was currently occupied by one irritating duck-frog hybrid, being watched by one extremely irritated witch, and would stay that way until the crisis passed. But Camille probably didn't need to know all of that.
"And we didn't kidnap you!" NegaCrimson snapped. She was sitting on a table, being attended to by Christine – whose presence was thankfully explainable as her being another hapless, infected civilian caught up in the madness and trying to make herself useful. Given the increasingly visible changes affecting them all, it wasn't a hard reality to sell: Dr. Lovell was also present, sharing notes with Techno about their condition, and in the three of them the affliction was much farther along than his own. Large parts of them were looking very froglike. "You agreed to come. It was this or jail, remember? So deal with it."
"You ssshould have let me rob that bank asss a professssional courtesssy!" Camille snapped. "Plusss, you didn't sssay anything about a blindfold or any of thisss! Why ssshould I help you cure yourssselves, anyway?" She eyed NegaCrimson's green patches with clear amusement. "I think you look better thisss way!"
"Enough!" Techno said, more sternly than more were used to from him. "Thanks to Frogduck's shoddy craftsmanship, he's caused mutagens to explode into the weather system! They're already seeding throughout the entire city! It's not just us who are in jeopardy. It's the whole city! Including your friends."
Unsurprisingly, this didn't seem to sway her in the slightest. Though in the interest of being fair, Techno blamed himself for even expecting it to.
"Well," Camille said, with complete disdain. 'If it's sssuch a big deal, maybe you ssshould get that tv ssscientist - Von Drake - to help you."
Techno blinked. "What? Why?"
"Because he'sss a tad Polish."
Camille laughed hysterically. Meanwhile, Techno heavily suppressed a growl. "That's not funny."
"I sssay it is," Camille said, still guffawing.
"Isn't he Eastern European?" NegaCrimson said, with an odd amount of curiosity. Everyone in the room turned to look at her. "You know, Croakatian!"
Camille's laughter doubled in volume, and if that wasn't enough, both NegaCrimson and Christine started cracking up as well.
"He's German!" Techno snapped, not that it helped. NegaCrimson was completely overtaken with laughter, rolling off the table and landing on the floor with a thud and a giggle.
All of which was unsettlingly silly for NegaGosalyn. Maybe his Gosalyn would have made that joke, once the stakes weren't so high. But NegaCrimson? Even her chuckling at something like that was concerning. So was Christine losing her composure in a tense medical situation. The mutation was starting to affect their minds.
Not good. Not good at all. How was Morgana doing, outside? When would it spread to him? How long before everyone in the city was as hopping mad as Frogduck?
"I ssstill sssay it doesn't matter," Camille said, entirely amphivalent. "Ssso this city full of posersss goesss green. Ssso what? Even if the ssstuff affects me, I can change my ssshape. Meanwhile, the phony villainsss, phony sssheep, and especially phony heroesss can learn what it'sss like to be me! I'm not ssseeing a downssside."
Techno frowned, realizing that he was letting his tension - maybe at more than just the current crisis - get the better of him. A very long time ago, Camille had once said something very similar to him. She had no idea he was the same person, but he had no interest in actually being a phony hero. And that meant playing this smart.
"Well for one, you're proud of being a chameleon, aren't you?"
She eyed him, reptile eyes narrowed and unsure of where he was going. He didn't leave her waiting. "It's just, you do know that if this affects you, your base form will be all frog. And you'll be just as stark ribbiting mad as the rest of us. Are you sure you want to be an insane shapeshifter? Who knows what you might turn yourself into. A rat? A toilet seat? A stockbroker?"
That did it. Camille finally looked unsettled. But, unfortunately, not convinced. "Who knowsss what I might become in the future. But if you think you can manipulate me, I can ssshow you what I plan to ssshift into right now!"
In an instant, Camille disappeared. Techno leaped to his feet, visored eyes flying around the room searching for something – anything. After a moment, his sensors caught the trail of a seemingly ordinary housefly, drifting towards the vents.
"No! NO!" He shouted. He mashed his hands across every relevant button his suit had. "Lockdown, lockdown! Lock it all down now!"
Christine was leaning against NegaCrimson's former table, still laughing incessantly. "Ha ha! She ssshowed you!"
NegaCrimson popped to her feet. At least she was still fighting it, even if it was becoming a losing battle. "Showed who? And where did she go? Don't tell me you lost her!"
Techno groaned, not for the first or the last time. At least – judging by the slams echoing through the tower – the lockdown was working, and did so before Camille got to the main room. Their secret was safe, for now.
But while it would make a very ribbiting tale one day, this was still shaping up to be a very, very long afternoon…
With Darkwing and the Masked Mallard,
"Okay," the Mallard said, finally resigned to both his evident screw ups and the fact that he would now be forced to talk about them. "So I really need to work on keeping my personal anecdotes out of my speech. Got it."
"You should at least not be so obvious. Screwing up from time to time is going to happen.' Darkwing said, half reassuring, half sardonic. "But maybe not let it on that you're in on the occasional inside joke."
A grim nod in response. "Is that how you figured it out?"
Darkwing pulled into a smirk. "Me? Nah," he said. "I had already suspected something along those lines for a while, but I knew for sure when you suggested PJ in the first place. You think I couldn't do a little research and find out that Peter Pete Jr. was an associate of Max Goof, son of George "Goofy" Goof, who is friends with one Donald Duck? You reacting to the mention of Max during the conversation was just the icing on the cake."
The Masked Mallard stared blankly at him, his face the picture of disbelief. Darkwing put his hands behind his head and took a moment to bask in his own brilliance for. "Yep yep yep, you can't put one over on ol' Darkwing Duck."
Unfortunately, with his hands off the controls this little bit of gloating put them on course straight into ground, and he had to cut it short and veer up before irony smashed them both into little pieces.
Once they weren't about to die any more, the Masked Mallard timidly tried to deal with his new normal. "Okay, yeah. It's me, Louie Duck. Hi."
"I know that already."
The Mallard – Louie – flinched. "S-so, what happens now?"
"Now you tell your family where you've been, because you haven't been keeping contact like you promised and they've been worried sick. Your Uncle – yes, the very same one you're working out some problems with," Darkwing added when he saw the Mallard's flinch become a full fledged stiffen, "nearly hired me to track you down. He was willing to pay a legitimately huge sum, too – at least, huge for him. I knew I should've taken him up on that…"
"I… I can't." The Mallard stammered, looking away. "N-not yet."
The sheer annoyance at the entire situation he was in started to rise up Darkwing's throat. As a father who was dealing with the pain of a daughter estranged from him against her will, his patience for Louie – who was galavanting around by choice – was paper thin.
But just as he was about to yell, he looked at the boy sitting next to him and… stopped. The parent in him knew the despondent look on his face, and knew it would do no good to make a fight out of it. But he could help deal with it.
"Okay fine. You need to tell them something, but I'll respect your wishes for now. But unless you want to be booted out of this plane right now, I at least need to know how you ended up in that crazy getup."
The Mallard looked down at his Scarlet Pumpernickel-styled uniform, then over at Darkwing's garish ensemble with a childish look. "My getup is crazy? Have you looked in a mirror lately?"
"I'm vintage!" Darkwing protested, "and you're getting away from the point."
Louie took a deep breath, and stared into space for a long moment. "… fine. I'll tell you," he said, begrudgingly. "But it's a crazy story."
Darkwing almost laughed. Crazy? He doubted it. "Try me."
"Okay. So you already know that I set off from Duckburg in with Uncle Panchito, in a ship due for Mexico…"
Several months previously, on the open seas outside Duckburg,
The small trailer drifted lazily through the sea, but with purpose – it's Captain being clear about where he wanted to go, but not in any real hurry to get there.
Louie had spent the whole trip so far rooted to the same spot he stood in when leaving the Duckburg docks. He leaned against the railing a little more, perhaps. But that was more because his thoughts were weighing him down so much.
He scoffed at the thought. He was becoming poignant in his solitude. He could imagine what his Huey and Dewey would say if they could read his mind. In fact, he thought a lot about what his brothers would do in the hours since he left them behind.
Dewey would've probably gotten a hint of seasickness by now, and tried to play it off by saying he ate something bad – like one of their Uncle Donald's limburger and pickled meat sandwiches or something. Huey would groan, but then help him through it under the guise of criticizing him, going through everything he should have done to fix it by now. And Louie would sit by and laugh, offering a lighthearted comment here and there…
But instead he had the sea. He had no idea how anything could be so beautiful, and yet so dull. He didn't know what he was thinking: it was like watching Daisy's nieces livestream! – not that he would ever tell them that.
At least the company was nice, though, even if it wasn't his brothers. He could hear Panchito coming before the rooster even made himself known, humming and laughing to himself. Louie hadn't ever been a depressing kid or anything, but even he had no idea how anyone could be so happy all the time. Or how someone so jolly could've become so close with their infamously grumpy Uncle.
"Hola, mi sobrino!" Panchito called as he came near. "Enjoying the ocean? I find it far less interesting than the open range, but it has its secrets."
"Well, I hope you're going to show me a few of them," Louie said, with a lot of good-natured sarcasm. There was no real whine in his voice, just the harmless barbs of someone making fun. "So far, we've been out for half a day and we haven't even had one adventure. Maybe Uncle Donald was exaggerating in his old stories..."
"Ho ho!" Panchito plopped himself on the railing beside Louie, his eyes twinkling. "There's plenty of time for that, my boy!"
"You sure we can wait?" He gestured to the door to the ship's hold, though the ship's slow pace is what was really on his mind. "What're you hauling down there anyway, 'Captain?'"
The teasing smirk on his face was the kind only reserved for family. Panchito returned it with another booming laugh.
"Nothing so fantastic, nino. This here boat lugs the oldest boom trade there is! Spices! The finest in Jalisco!" He puffed out his chest. "I grow 'em on my farm, sell 'em for a mint here in Duckburg, and bring the equipment and such I need back to Mexico! And lots of time for adventure along the way!"
Louie stared back into the water. "I could use a little of that."
"And you'll have it, don't you worry. But first, we talk."
The flinch that followed made Panchito laugh again, but Louie didn't find it so funny.
Of course. Panchito may have been the most rough and tumble he knew, and may have only been an honorary part of the family, but he was still technically Louie's Uncle. Obviously he wouldn't just let him adventure his troubles away without some kind of talk involved.
"Do we have to?" He whined.
Panchito shook his head. "Now, now. None of that. Your Uncle Donald would kill me if I didn't at least try the old 'work it out with words' approach." His air quotes around the phrase were so exaggerated Louie almost laughed.
Which was probably the point. Clever.
So instead, he snorted dismissively. "He should talk."
"He should!' Panchito replied, without missing a beat. "'Practica lo que predicas,' I always say. But that doesn't mean he's wrong."
Logical speaking was more Dewey's thing, but Louie could tell there was no use trying to play this off. They were on a boat at sea, just the two of them and a horse. He was getting this lecture, or whatever it was, eventually. Might as well do it now.
"Do I at least have to give the play by play?" He said. "I don't really want to talk about it."
"That's alright," Panchito waved it off. "I know all about it." Louie stared at him, prompting him to keep going. "Oh, well, your Uncle Donald already knew about Scrooge's secret, something about living through a zombie attack. And after you reached out to me, he told me about it. I, as you say, connected the dots."
Louie groaned. He knew Uncle Scrooge was aware of this, but he had hoped it wouldn't become the whole family's business. Especially not Uncle Donald. He was so going to hear about this later. "Wait, how did he know I called you?"
"He didn't. I called him."
Louie gaped, feeling betrayed. "You what? Why!?"
For once, Panchito looked serious. Louie's hurt look had zero affect on him. "I am many wild and – I must admit – occasionally irritating things, my boy, but a poor friend and a lousy uncle I am not."
Louie threw his head into his arms, exasperated. "So I suspect you want me to forgive Uncle Scrooge and go back to the way things were, huh?" He said, talking muffled through his sleeve. "Are we about to turn this boat around?"
"Not if you don't want to. Forgiveness will come in time."
"And what if it doesn't?" Louie scoffed.
"It will," Panchito replied, not even taking the idea seriously. Louie frowned at him, but he ignored that too. "There is too much love there for it not to. Take my family." Where Louie looked into the water, he looked to the skies. "You'll find scoundrels and banditos among the saints and the angels, but they always come together in the end."
"Did any of them do anything so horrible they thought they had to hide it away from everyone for the rest of their entire lives?" Louie said, a sharp edge entering his voice.
"When my Uncle Junipero was eaten by cannibals they gave him an awful review online. Does that count?"
Louie gave Panchito a flat look. But as usual, he only laughed in the face of it.
"Just like your Uncle. I'm kidding, little hombre." Louie rolled his eyes, prompting more embarrassment as Panchito's laughter increased, until finally he wiped a tear from his eye and kept going. "But to be serious, your anger is just in the way right now. But forgiveness doesn't have to come today."
Suddenly, his expression turned severe, so much so that Louie dropped his annoyed look in surprise, and a bit of nervousness. "And I'll admit, running innocent folk off their land – just for a peso or two - is a terrible thing! Your Uncle may have grown into a kinda sorta good man now, but the years of guilt he gave himself is well deserved, and I say he could do with a little more."
Louie stared at him. So, Panchito was both on his side and not on his side. Maybe this trip was a good idea after all… if a bit confusing.
"So…" Louie said slowly. "That's not what you wanted to talk about?"
"It's not what is currently making you miserable, so no."
It suddenly occurred to Louie that nobody ever gave his Uncle Panchito credit for being perceptive, at least about people. He stared expectantly at the young duck, and something told Louie he already knew what he was about to hear.
"Yeah… okay," Louie said softly. "It's not just that I blew up on Uncle Scrooge. I mean, I did do that. I blew up royal. But…" He paused. Panchito waited patiently for him to continue. "… I… I even fought with my brothers. It was a big one. It was probably coming anyway, we all knew it, but… it still hurts."
"As it should. Your brothers and you don't just share blood. You complete each other, even when you fight." Louie blushed a little at this. Not that that would ever stop Panchito from being dramatic. "You are Caballeros!"
Louie vaguely remembered that name as the thing his Uncle Donald and his friends called themselves, and suspected a reminiscence was incoming.
"Like me, Jose and your Uncle!"
Got it in one. Louie tried not to smirk.
"Look at me!" Panchito said exuberantly. "I… well… I'm a little on the impulsive side. One might even say a little crazy, at times!" For emphasis, a goofy smile spread across his face. "Jose, he is creative but he can be naïve – even more than me! And Donald…"
Louie chuckled. "He's Uncle D."
Panchito smiled fondly. That was all the description either of them needed. "Yes, he is. And the three of us each have our own way of doing things. So sometimes, we would fight. Sometimes, we would fight big! Nasty things could be said. You wouldn't believe…"
He and Louie shared a look.
"Then again, maybe you do." He chuckled. "But the point is, we never stayed separate for long. Staying angry was just too painful to let lie. We had to come together to feel better, and it was always welcome no matter how furious we were."
Louie gave an obligatory groan, but he had to hear the advice all the same. "So you're saying that I don't have to make up with Uncle Scrooge just yet-"
"- though you should think about it-"
"… though I should think about it," Louie repeated. "But…" he sighed. "What I really have to do first is talk to my-"
CRASH!
Something huge and heavy slammed into the side of the boat. Fell back from the railing, losing his balance. He looked up, and realized they had been there talking for a long time. The skies were no longer clear. In fact, they were looking very troubling.
"Quackaroonie, what was that?!" He shouted from the deck. He hopped back to his feet as quick as he could, and couldn't help but notice that the sea was rocking the boat a lot more than it used to.
Panchito had, of course, kept his feet the whole time. "A mine! A torpedo! A sea monster!" He reached for a nearest tool he could – a shovel in this case, which was an odd thing to have on board a boat – and brandished it like a weapon.
Louie couldn't blame him. Those were all things Louie had had the misfortune of dealing with before, and none of them sounded like any fun to revisit. But this didn't seem like one of them. There was something in the air… a feeling?
No, a breathing!
"No, wait!" He shouted. "It sounds like…"
They both peered over the edge, for a glimpse of their crisis. And there, down below, they found a cracked and broken lifeboat. On board, was a cracked and broken man, a bear to be precise, lying prone in a literally sinking ship.
"A person!" They said together.
Panchito nearly lost his hat. "Ay caramaba!"
Despite the situation, Louie had to ask… "Wait, what does that mean?"
"Oh, yes! I don't know…"
They got the poor soul on board their ship as fast as they could, but it was a very near thing. Even when they got him settled, he looked bad. He was aged, and not just old. There was something pallid and weak about him, as if sickened. His fur was thin, and his skin was pale. But there was something determined in his eyes, even if his body seemed to be failing him.
The bear wheezed for quite a long time before they could get any words out of him, but they were patient. Panchito had a seemingly endless supply of lemonade on board ("you want I should get scurvy?") which seemed to give him some of his strength back, until finally the bear could breathe with at least some ease, and respond without difficulty.
"Son of a gun!" Panchito said, once they were sure he was doing well enough. "You nearly had the final dive there, friend!"
"I… I still might," the bear said, still weak.
"Nonsense!" Panchito said enthusiastically - as if he had any other way to say anything. But Louie, for the matter, nodded just as strongly. "You are in good hands, amigo! You will make it out of here with nothing more than a chronic cough or two."
"My health is a bit worse than that, unfortunately. But the situation is worse still." The bear replied gravely, breathing in ragged hisses. He tried to stand, but Panchito gently held him back. "Let me go!" He snapped. "I have to get out of here, you don't understa-"
His words were cut off by another coughing fit, which helped Panchito get him back to his seat. Meanwhile, Louie tried to get him talking – it sounded like he'd had a terrible experience, and they needed to make sure it hadn't left him confused or traumatized.
"Are you okay?" He asked, crouching down to the bear's level. "Do you know your name?"
The bear made another failed attempt to stand, before finally giving him. He closed his eyes, evidently resigning himself to his current situation. "The name's Kit. Kit Cloudkicker."
Present day, back at the Thunderquack,
The story came to screeching halt as Darkwing nearly flew them both into a terrified suburbanite's pool for sheer shock.
"Wait, Kit Cloudkicker's alive?"
"Oh, yeah..." the Masked Mallard said, as casually as if he hadn't just plummeted into the ground. Then again, he knew Launchpad as well as Darkwing did, so he was probably used to it. "He mentioned he knew you. Later, I mean."
"Why didn't you tell us?!" Darkwing demanded, pulling the plane back on course with a noticeable huff in his voice. "Crimson will… well…" he stopped himself, wincing with a very non-physical pain. "…once we get her back, she'll want to know."
The Mallard shrug. "Part of it is just that there was just so much going on. We never got the chance." He shot Darkwing an annoyed glance. "And I'm getting to why that is!"
"Fine… fine…"
Back in the Flashback,
Realizing by now that he couldn't get these good Samaritans to stop doting over him, Kit instead tried a different tactic: portents of doom.
"We have to get out of here!" He said harshly, throwing Panchito a glare when he preemptively tried to keep him in his seat. "We need to get out of open water, right now!"
Panchito and Louie looked at each other, alarmed. "What's the hurry, my friend?" Panchito said, still friendly but with a hint of concern. Both of them had learned a long time ago never to ignore a warning given that desperately.
"There are people after me," Kit explained. "People you don't want to meet."
"Well, I'd like to know who it is I don't want to meet before I don't meet them!" There was a moment of silence as everyone other than Panchito parsed through that sentence.
"Trust me, they're bad news!" Kit said frantically. "You don't want to fight, you want to run."
Thunder echoed through the air now, with alarming frequency. Louie idly wondered if maybe someone other than Panchito's horse ought to be steering the ship, but the captain seemed distracted.
"Meh!" He crowed. "I eat bad news for breakfast! With a side order of juiced catastrophe!"
"Listen to me-"
"Hey!" Louie said, suddenly. The other two turned to look at him, but he was looking up. "Whoever they are, are they the ones casting that ominous looking shadow?"
The flush draining Kit's face as he matched Louie's gaze said it all. The skies were now full of thunderous clouds, but in the center – just above their ship – those clouds darkened with a dark shape. Something enormous.
"It's them…" Kit gasped.
Panchito looked like he was about to demand an explanation again, and Louie felt just about ready to join him. But before either of them could do so, the world erupted with the sound of laughter, broadcast from above.
It was deep, raspy, and very nasty. What's more, it sounded… vaguely familiar.
"It's him!" Kit said, sounding even more anxious than before.
Panchito pulled his hat down over his eyes, half stressed, half afraid – both emotions Louie didn't like hearing from him. "Him, who?"He screeched, finally at his wits end.
The laughing voice answered on its own.
"So, Cloudkicker! You got yerself outta the drink. And you found a little savior! Ain't dat sweet!"
Now Louie definitely knew he had heard that voice before. It had been a long time, but it was enough to know it was seriously bad news.
Panchito, evidently, knew the same thing. "Oh, him," he groaned, sounding no less
Kit looked back and forth at the both of them as if seeing them for the first time. Evidently, he had not been expecting familiarity. "Wait, who are you tw-"
"Too bad they knows too much, now!" The voice, belonging to none other than Pete, continued on. "Dat's on you, old man! I guess we'll just have'ta wipe 'em out too!"
Louie gulped. That was, obviously, not reassuring.
"I think you are right, amigo!" Panchito said, jumping into action – perhaps a little too late. "It is time to go!" He pointed at Louie, his eyes wide with concern. "Get into the hold, sobrino! He will try to ransom you for sure! Which, while fun in regular circumstances…"
His frantic tone left no room for disagreement, at least in normal circumstances. But Louie was a proud member of the most argumentative trios of ducks in one of the most stubborn families of ducks there were.
"No way! I'm going to help you!" He shouted, standing his ground.
Kit nodded his agreement. "I don't… wheeze… know what's going on here, but we need all the help we can… cough… get!"
Panchito was about to disagree, when suddenly there was no more time to argue. A mighty band split the skies open, and a massive airship lowered itself out of the clouds. Ropes fell from biplanes that swarmed the air like giant gnats. And suddenly, there were pirates everywhere – diving from the sky straight for their boat.
And from far above, on top of the blinding wind and coming rain, they could hear Pete's voice bellow – guttural and cruel – and just make out the worst words they could hear.
"Get 'em!"
Back at the Thunderquack. Again,
"And then we were up to our armpits in pirates."
Darkwing nodded along, only partially listening at this point. Not that it wasn't an interesting story, but there were dials and doodads that needed his attention, and who hadn't had a fistfight with pirates at some point?
"I think they've got a cream for that," he droned absently.
"Hey, you wanted this story!" The Masked Mallard snapped, offended. Despite his reluctance to start talking, he was really getting into the storytelling now. "Are you going to listen to it, or make jokes!"
"Both, most likely." Darkwing shrugged. "You can keep on going, though."
"Fine…" The Mallard stuck out his tongue, not caring if Darkwing was watching, but did as he said regardless. "Now where was I… oh, right. So there we were, pirates dangling from ropes like dirtly little-"
'Wait… pirates!" Darkwing suddenly shouted.
"Well, yeah." The Mallard said bluntly. "That's what I said. They swarmed the ship." He mimed throwing a few punches, swinging a fake pirates' like a lance. "If you'd listen, you know fighting them off took-"
But Darkwing really wasn't paying attention now. His eyes were on the Thunderquack's crime tracker, which was displaying some very troubling information. "No, I mean actually the actual pirates. They're back! In St. Canard! Right now!"
The Mallard gasped. His story forgotten, he looked over the controls. "PJ was right! Radio! Now!"
Having no experience with the Thunderquack, it would've taken the Masked Mallard far too long to find the radio for Darkwing's taste. He flicked it himself, and tuned it to the St. Canard news. What they heard made them go from shocked to far worse.
The reporter on the air had just started her report. "… where an unsanctioned airship has perched above of the St. Canard headquarters of McDuck Industries." The Masked Mallard paled. Darkwing had to agree with the sentiment. "Sources indicate that this ship is the current airborne headquarters of the criminal organization known as the Air Pirates, whose illicit activities were the cause of the massive crackdown earlier this summer…"
"McDuck Industries!" The younger duck shouted. "But why are they going after Uncle Scrooge?!"
Darkwing grimaced. There was more to the situation than that, and as loath as he was to have to be the one to say so, his companion would have to know. "Any number of reasons, but the danger to the company assets isn't the only reason you should be worried." The Masked Mallard stared at him, eyes wide and afraid. Darkwing's grimace widened. "This might not be a good time to tell you, but you've been out of contact…"
"What?! What is it?"
"Only that your Uncle gave your brothers trial positions at that location." He said this very steadily, not wanting the young hero to miss the implication. "Internships with benefits, I guess. Something to think about when Gos and Honker are out of school, in my case…"
His attempt to smooth things over with humor didn't work, though then he didn't expect it to.
The Mallard started breathing heavily. He looked much more like a frightened Louie Duck than the vainglorious image he had been projecting – which reminded Darkwing that he still needed the rest of that story.
"Huey and Dewey are there?! N-no! Do you think they're…" The Mallard stopped himself, not bearing to finish the thought. "Oh, gosh. What if Pete knows?"
Darkwing shook his head. At the same time, he pushed the plane up into high gear. "He'd need some very good insider information. I only know because Scrooge told me." It was the truth, but he hoped it reassured the boy regardless. "But either way, they're in trouble. It's time to get dangerous."
"Right behind you…" The Mallard steeled himself, and the scared young man behind the mask pushed that fear down… at least for now. Darkwing knew he was far too green for this crisis not to be tearing him up like rabid dogs inside. "The Masked Mallard cannot let this evil stand!"
"That's the spirit…" Darkwing said, eyeing his companion with concern. This simple outing was turning into a serious problem. But that was what he took up his own mask for, and reservations or not he would have to lead the prospective hero beside him through it.
But first, they would have to get there in one piece. And given the speed that they were blasting through the sky, there was always a chance that they wouldn't…
Author's Note: First off, I want to apologize for all the frog puns. Any more of those and even I might croak.
Just in case you forgot about the Masked Mallard, guess who's back. If any of you fine folks out there guessed he was Louie Duck, congrats. Have a virtual soda. We also dedicate a little time to my way of figuring out how the different Petes all fit together. I couldn't imagine PJ's dad as being the same Pete we see in the classic shorts and comics, the loathsome criminal with decades of villainy under his belt, so I have it that the Goof Troop Pete is the Pete Jr. who appeared in some of the shorts, estranged from the rest of his family. It's not mentioned, but in my take the Pete family dates its history all the way back to the evil Captain of the Guard who's villain of Mickey, Donald and Goofy's The Three Musketeers, maybe even earlier.
Duck references, on the other hand, are abound with Panchito, some pretty sly (like the crack about his Uncle Junipero being a really dark reference to his song from House of Mouse): and the more I write him, the more I like writing him. I only wish I could fit Jose in there somewhere. The reference to Daisy's nieces livestreaming is a reference to Legend of the Three Caballeros (which as of this writing still haven't been officially released - it's coming in the streaming service), though much like Ducktales 2017 I'm not specifically writing this with parts from that being canon (your friendly reminder that Louie and his brothers are based off of their Quack Pack versions, personality wise).
Anywho, this story isn't done yet - we're only halfway there. Now that the game is afoot, we'll see how long our young masked hero can keep going on Ducking Responsibility, next Darkwing time, same Darkwing website!